


All That is Gold

by deweii



Category: Life of the Party (Web Series)
Genre: Astra/Elyse is also there but you have to squint really hard, Dancing, M/M, actually ren is probably ooc too, but how else was he and ren gonna dance, canon compliant I guess??, everybody IS technically mentioned, just not named - Freeform, oh well, pretty sure Cassian is way ooc, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:18:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deweii/pseuds/deweii
Summary: The ball is a spectre, certainly, but Renard has no intentions of dancing. He's not there as a guest.Or, Cassian disagrees with Renard (but where's the surprise).





	All That is Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I think Renard not doing what he is supposed to is a perfect analogy for me writing this fic and, therefore, not doing what _I_ am supposed to.
> 
> unbeta'd because we die like men. unprepared and useless.

There was no pleasure in standing sentry to a grand ball, thrown for the birthday of some Lady or other, but Renard hadn’t taken the job for his entertainment.

The ballroom was a marvellous splendour. Ceilings as high as a church steeple, floor stretching as wide as a coliseum arena, with two glittering chandeliers that could take up a whole house, and candles burning like tiny suns that cast a flickering, golden light on the mass of dancers below.

It was all marble and gold. White, polished pillars and sleek, glistening floors of the most precious metal. It lined the walls and the ceiling and caught in the firelight from the chandeliers and sconces lining the room. Renard was glad for his mask and the softened lens on his vision, for surely without it, the sight would be near painful, if not glaringly so.

The click of heels was near deafening in the room, but the band playing at the far end was louder still. There was all manner of folk set up at their instruments. He could see humans, elves, a gnome or two, and even a tiefling with pale blue skin and the most vivid teal hair pulled back in braid.

It had smelled of the feast, the roasts and the vegetables and the stews, that had passed through to the banquet hall before. Now, it was all the stench of sickly sweet, hot sweat. It brought with it a heavy, encumbering heat, and even standing to overlook it all, Renard’s skin was beginning to prickle.

The air was thick and so alive it was almost stifling. Dresses and tunics and all manner of apparel swayed and flowed in the motion of the dancers, all the delighted guests showing off their wealth and beauty in such a night of glamour and charm.  
On the set-up stage where the band played, a sorcerer weaving brilliant arrays of blue, crackling lightning displays stood up front. She grinned, blue hair flowing freely around her as she waved her arms in an enchanting showcase of her arcane power. Renard had caught her exchanging glances with the tiefling all evening, an unspoken, electric understanding passing between them.

He hadn’t expected trouble when he had taken the job. It was simple, watching over the crowds and on standby in the event something happened, such as a fight breaking out or trouble amongst the patrons. As it so happened, it was well into the dark hours of the night, and nothing so far had gone amiss. Renard suspected nothing would.

His rapier sat patiently at his hip, and his hand never strayed far from it. That, if nothing else, would hopefully be enough to dissuade anyone who brewed troublesome queries in their minds.

He paced along the wall, watching over the crowds with a sharp eye. They could not see what was behind his mask, but that did not mean he could not see them.

A few stragglers hugged close to the wall, or the pillars lining the dance floor. Some were alone, watching the proceedings with tired or wistful eyes. Some were not, paired off into twos or threes or more.

On the steps leading into the room sat two elves. The small, fair-haired lady sat primly but reserved, hair in intricate but beautiful cascades over her shoulders, covered by a lovely lilac and silver dress. Her companion was much more relaxed, watching the crowds ebb and flow with a twinkle in his eyes and chin in his hands, his outfit much simpler and more comfortable in appearance. They talk between each other, and the dark-haired elf never seemed to stop smiling.

Renard turned from them to make the trek back to the far side of the room, never straying far from the wall.

It was nearly to the other side when the needling sensation tickled at the back of his skull. He was being watched, with more than a passing interest. The hairs raised at the nape of his neck, and he scanned the area around him to no avail.

Once again, he turned around to pace the length of the room, then paused. He was much closer to the end of the room now, where the band played, and he could see the sorceress in all her glory now. She was a sight to delight any who looked upon her and her talents, and with the band backing her, even Renard had to admit to a generous amount of awe. He was not one for such entertainment, but at least he had something to take away from the evening.

But he could not shake the lingering eyes. They were somewhere and he knew it.

He did not have to wait long to discover a source.

“You are aware this is not a masquerade ball?”

Renard turned to the voice with the unfamiliar, smooth accent. The elf was leaning against one of the marble pillars lasciviously, gleaming gold eyes boring so sharply into him that a sharp panic struck his chest that _maybe_ this elf could see past his mask.

But it was only the radiance of his eyes. Renard set his shoulders and let out a silent, drawn breath.

The elf was dressed to lure attention. Flowing, finely tailor robes drift down to his agile, crossed legs. The thread that held together the midnight fabric shined like starlight, like metal, and he had to wonder if it wasn’t a kind of metal. The elf’s dark skin was painted with gold designs over his face and his hands, and coal black lining ran down from his lip and curled around his eyes.

He did not grace the elf with a reply. He was not paid to converse with the guests. Certainly, it was not the first or even most clever remark someone had made about his mask or hooded attire that evening.

To his dismay, the elf did not turn away or seem to be the slightly bit dissuaded. He merely tilted his head, lip twitching as if fighting back one of the charming, irritating smirks the rich and luxurious had come to master over the years.

“If you keep stomping the length of the room as you are, you will either wear a hole in your boots or the floor. It is anyone’s guess which will go first,” the elf said.

“How long have you been watching me?” Renard asked, against all better judgement. He should have ignored the elf, walked away, continued mindlessly watching the festivities and guests until he had been relieved of his duty.

He was not always good at doing what he should.

His mistake reflected back at him in the elf’s lazy smile. “Long enough to decide you are not half as intimidating as you are attempting to be. One would think your air of mystery would have attracted someone to ask for your hand to dance.”

Renard frowned, though he knew the elf could not see it. He placed his gloved hand on his rapier, never breaking the elf’s gaze. “I’m not here to dance.”

That only served to further broaden the elf’s vainglorious grin. “Nobody is here with no intentions of dancing,” he said.

His hand tightened on the rapier. He had no plans to draw it, but he needed something solid to wrap his hands around. “I’m here only as a guard.”

“Guarding what? The shadows?” The elf snorted and shook his head. “Tell me…” he trailed off with a raised eyebrow. When Renard said nothing, he sighed. “Your name.”

He tightened his jaw. He had no obligations to tell this guest his name, nothing that bound him to the conversation.

“Renard.”

“Tell me, Renard, what dangers are you waiting for? A twisted ankle from a broken shoe? The offence of a lady made to feel unimportant by a flustered suitor? Nothing has happened, and nothing will, not at a ball like this.”

“I’m paid to ensure it stays that way,” he said. “I’m not paid to hold pointless conversations with bored guests.”

The elf’s smile finally dimmed, and he eyed Renard. It was an appraising look, and one that left him ever so slightly unsettled, and most certainly disquieted. His chest tightened as the elf’s gaze slowly trailed its way back to Renard’s face, his mask.  
“You would be correct on one account,” said the elf. He stood from the pillar and approached Renard.

Instinctively, his hand tightened on the rapier’s grip. The elf glanced down at his hand, but otherwise ignored the gesture and did not stop until they were within uncomfortable space of each other. Which was to say, there was perhaps half an arms’ length of space between them.

“I am bored,” the elf clarified. “And you will have a much closer angle for spotting potential threats on the dance floor, do you disagree?”

Renard narrowed his eyes even though the elf could not see it. “Is that your way of trying to convince me to dance?”

The elf raised his perfectly fashioned eyebrows. Then, he raised he hand, palm opened towards Renard. “Was I successful?”

Heat spread through his cheeks to his great aggravation, and he pinched his lips together. “I am not here to dance,” he insisted once more. “And besides, I would not dance with a strange man I did not know even if I was.”

“Cassian.”

“Excuse me?”

The elf grinned again. “Cassian. It is my name. There, you see? Not so strange anymore. And of the two of us, well…” His hand was still outstretched. He curved his fingers and waved them in a “come hither” manner. “One dance will not kill you, or anyone else. I assure you.”

He stared at the hand, then back up at Cassian’s strikingly gold eyes. He had not taken the job for his own pleasure, and he was not getting paid to mess around with the guests no matter who they were. He did not even want to dance, and Cassian was gratingly arrogant. He had such a cloud of lavishness around his person. Renard only associated with fancy folk like him for jobs, to be paid.

Renard was not always good at doing what he should.

His grip on his rapier went slack, and he hesitated only a moment before letting his hand fall into Cassian’s palm. He saw only a glimpse of Cassian’s triumphant, broad grin, before he was accosted onto the dance floor, into the throng of the waltzing swarm.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me over on [tumblr!](https://deweiiii.tumblr.com/)


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